Trusting Skye
by MissAnnThropic
Summary: Skye walks Dean through his 'first time'. Set in the Skyeverse.


Title: Trusting Skye

Author: MissAnnThropic

Spoilers: set in the Skyeverse (surrounding my fic "Wild by Skye")

LiveJournal: miss_annthropic(dot)livejournal(dot)com

Summary: Skye walks Dean through his 'first time'. Set in the Skyeverse.

Timeline: See the last chapter of "Wild by Skye" for a chronological listing of Skyeverse fics to know where exactly this falls in the timeline. Or, you know, just read the fic and figure it out! Or eat pie. I know which one Dean would vote for.

Disclaimer: None of it's mine. I'm just a sad little fangirl that spends her days writing fanfic and watching DVDs of her favorite shows :(

Author's Note: Excuse any typos you guys find in the Skyeverse; I don't have a regular beta so most of these go without.

* * *

At first, there was only confusion. Sounds, so unremarkable except for being so unbearably loud. Every noise screaming at once for attention: birds, the wind in the treetops, insects… each and every one at high decibels in his ears. And smells, rich and thick and dizzying of everything he recognized and everything he didn't. Pine, grass, rotting leaves, the musky scent of wild animals, bark, and others, so many others, nothing subtle or background beneath another. And the colors danced before him wrong, off-tint and subservient to the powers of hearing and scent.

There was a heartbeat, his own and somehow unknown, pounding, racing louder than all the other noises, thundering in his skull, filling him with its rhythm. It was a frenzied drum solo, feeding its own speed.

He caught only glimpses of concrete moments. The forest. Gray fur. Sleek bodies floating dreamlike through the woods. Skye's arched back of naked skin. Gold eyes in the night. The moon, swollen and singing a siren song. Skye's dark hair tangled between his fingers. Blood. Wolves. Pack. John. Sam. Pain. Growling. Paws on the forest floor. Steel biting into soft skin. Vertigo. Too fast. Ground suddenly open air. Screaming. Sam.

Sam.

"_Sam_!" Dean's eyes snapped open, wide and confused. He tried to move, on reflex to go to Sam, but pain erupted in his shoulder and raced through him like a tidal wave.

"Shhh," a hand, soft but strong, on his other shoulder pressing him back down on to his back. Dean relented to the touch, instinctively trusted it by the scent of fresh air, pine, and woman's skin.

Dean lay still for a few seconds trying to get control of his frantic breathing, his heart still pounding in his ears.

When his wits started to come back to him, he blinked and looked over at Skye. She was laying beside him, propped up on one elbow, her hand still touching his bare, uninjured shoulder. They were in someplace old and small, Dean had a sense of the nearness of the walls and could smell aged wood. He was lying on an old mattress that sagged in the middle and whose covers smelled of dust and misuse. He knew they weren't in town by a fleeting realization when he first jolted awake that the only person he could smell was Skye.

He didn't know why he would trust such an instantaneous assessment on a sense like smell, but his gut told him to.

Dean focused on Skye. The room was dark and Skye a play of shadows, her curtain of dark hair black in the night.

"What…" Dean croaked, surprised at how weak he sounded.

"Just a second," Skye whispered, moved away from him on the mattress, then came back later with a canteen of water. She offered it to him, lifting his head so he could better sip from the container without straining his shoulder. Dean let the water slide over his tongue and knew it was water from the creek. It was tepid but quenching and it soothed his scratchy throat.

When he cleared his throat after drinking it felt better fit for use, and he nodded his thanks. "What… where are we?"

Skye put the water aside and turned on a camping lantern nearby. Pale yellow light, bulb-born but manufactured to look like candlelight, filled the small space but not much beyond the sphere of the two on the old bed.

"Jasper's cabin by the old riverbed… you've been unconscious for almost a day… do you remember what happened?"

Dean thought about that. It didn't take long. The pain in his shoulder was a vivid reminder. "Trey attacked me…" Dean weakly tried to reach up with his opposite hand to touch the wounded shoulder. Halfway he gave up and let his hand drop to the mattress again. He looked over at Skye. "You… you killed him."

Skye's face went ashen in the pale light, but she merely nodded.

Dean frowned. Then certainty settled heavy and sobering over him. "You turned me."

The room seemed to echo with the statement, neither Dean nor Skye willing to breathe for a moment after the declaration.

"That's right," Skye said and reached up to trace her hand lovingly over his jawline. "I'm _so_ sorry, Dean… if there had been _any_ other way…"

Dean lifted the hand of his uninjured shoulder, came in contact with Skye's side, and said, "Hey… you saved my life."

Skye forced a smile. "And will you ever forgive me?"

Dean smirked faintly. "You gave me a choice; I could have kept my mouth shut."

"Little chance of that," Skye teased softly, her thumb brushing feather-light over his bottom lip.

Dean began to chuckle, but the movement made him hurt and he groaned. "Ow."

"Easy…"

Dean closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths, then opened them to look around the room. "I don't remember getting here."

"You were in and out of it when we got here. If you had been more lucid I would have taken you home, but you were barely staying on your feet. So I brought you here to rest."

Dean grunted under his breath. "I was having the most _vivid_ dream… images, sounds, _smells_… it was crazy."

Skye nodded sagely. "That's normal. Your body is learning its new self, getting to know the wolf, understanding how it perceives the world. When you've been the wolf a few more times, your mind will work it out and the dreams will get less confusing."

"Less intense?"

"No… just less confusing."

"Oh."

Skye carefully checked Dean's wound while the hunter lay prone and let her. When she was satisfied with the state of the injury's treatment, she nestled back down by Dean's side.

"Who's Sam?"

Dean looked quickly over at Skye, his heart jumping involuntarily at the question. "What?"

"In your sleep, you kept calling for Sam. You sounded really worried."

Dean swallowed thickly. The heartache of Sam storming out was still so fresh, the wound as raw as the torn flesh of his shoulder.

"He's my brother," Dean whispered hoarsely.

Skye held her breath a half-second. "I didn't know you had a brother," she said gently.

Dean closed his eyes. "Yeah. Actually, he's why I'm here."

Skye perched her chin on Dean's good side and looked at him over the contours of his own body. "He sent you on this hunt?"

Dean turned his head slightly to look down at her. "No… it's complicated."

"I'd like to hear it." Skye lifted her chin off Dean's body to turn her face down and rest her lips lightly against Dean's chest. "You've never mentioned any of your family before," she added carefully.

Dean pursed his lips and stared up at the ceiling that was lost in darkness. It wasn't reluctance to tell her as much as it was reluctance to say it aloud. Somehow, putting the family-rending fight into words made it more real, and Dean didn't know if he could take it being any more real than it already was.

But Skye should know who his family was. It felt right that she know.

"Sam's my baby brother, four years younger than me, and since I was four he was my responsibility. I had to look out for Sammy, no matter what. Nothing came before protecting Sam."

Skye's breath brushed warm and gentle against his skin, but she didn't speak.

"But Sam never wanted to hunt, and that's all Dad lived for after our mom died. Kid fought the lifestyle every day of his life after he turned six." Dean unconsciously reached out with his good hand, seeking Skye, and she found his hand with her own and intertwined their fingers. Dean continued, "Sam wanted to be a normal kid. He wanted a normal life. For years, he kicked and dug in his heels and butted heads with our dad.

"Few weeks ago, it finally blew up. He'd applied to Stanford behind Dad's back, got a full scholarship. He was going to go to college, and he wasn't going to let anyone or anything stop him. There was a fight. My dad threw my little brother out.

"I couldn't stay there after that. I was too mad. So I went off on my own. Ended up here."

Dean only then realized he'd recounted the bullet points of the whole incident in one go, without so much as a word of interruption from Skye. Maybe she realized that was the only way he'd get it out.

Skye let go of his hand and rested her palm, fingers splayed open, on his chest. "You said his name so many times in your sleep; he was all balled up in the wolf's coming to life in you. That says a lot, you know."

"It does?"

"Yes… about how fundamental Sam is in your life."

So fundamental and so gone. Dean felt a twinge of pain unrelated to his shoulder.

"Does it still hurt?" Skye asked.

"If my dad were here, he would have already stitched it," he answered, unwilling to think that perhaps she meant Sam's leaving and not his shoulder.

"Sorry I can't do it for you, but lycans don't know much about treating injuries. We have our own way of healing them." She paused. "Want to try our way?"

Dean looked warily at Skye. "You mean… turn into a wolf?" Even he could hear the trepidation in his voice.

"You can now," Skye replied, "and on full moons, you _will_. It's the only way I know to speed the healing process."

Dean resisted the urge to squirm. "Ah… that's okay, I think I'll just stick to the old-fashioned way."

He felt more than saw Skye's disapproval.

"What?" he asked.

Skye shook her head. "I just hate seeing you in pain. Turning will help you recover."

"No offense, but that wasn't an experience I'm eager to repeat until it's unavoidable."

"It's only painful the first time. There's no pain after that." Skye paused. "Well, that's not true. There is pain if you try to fight the change on the first night of the full moon. The wolf won't be denied that night, and you'll only suffer for trying. You can't beat the wolf."

Dean remembered the sheer agony of the change, lying in a dry riverbed feeling like he was being turned inside out. He could say he believed Skye that it wouldn't hurt the second time, but it was like touching a hot stove once. He wasn't about to stick his hand out to the orange coil again, no matter who promised it wouldn't burn him.

"Was it painful for you the first time?" Dean asked, hoping to divert the conversation.

"No… it's different for someone born a lycan. Our wolf is inside us from birth. It's never a stranger to us."

"When was the first time you changed?"

"Five."

Dean's eyebrows rose. "That young?"

Skye nodded. "It's why lycans live in communities like Eclipse River, miles from Barely towns. Our young aren't always as careful with their wolves as they should be." Skye sat up on the bed beside him, legs crossed Indian style. "But more cautious than you'd think for children so young. Fear of exposure is hammered into us from the day we're born. The consequences of being discovered can be deadly."

"So… you were five years old?" Dean prompted as casually as he could, genuinely interested in the story of Skye's first change now.

Skye nodded. "I remember it clearly. I'd been climbing the walls that day; my parents knew what it meant. That evening they took me into the woods, told me to undress, and when night fell I found the other half of myself." Skye smiled dreamily at the memory. "It was so beautiful. That first smell, that first sound… it was like…"

"A train accident and a plane crash all at once," Dean grumbled.

Skye laughed. "For you it was, but to a lycan… you'll understand someday, Dean."

"I'm not too sure about that."

Skye looked down at him then, seemed to study him, then she leaned in slightly. "Do you trust me?"

Dean looked askance at her. "Why?"

"Do you?"

Dean eyed her, then gave his honest answer. "Yes."

"Then let me walk you through a turn, just once."

Dean tensed involuntarily.

"I just want you to see that it won't hurt, and it will help heal you." Skye frowned. "You scared me when you were unconscious, Dean. I didn't know what to do, you'd lost so much blood… I thought you might die anyway."

"Over that little scratch? Please. Takes more than that to drop a Winchester," Dean boasted, though the effect was lost due to the fact he said it laid out flat on his back, incapable of even struggling to a sitting position.

Skye looked down at her lap, expression troubled.

Dean sighed. "All right… _once_…"

Skye smiled. "I won't ask you to do it again after your shoulder's better, but believe me, you won't want to wait for the full moon to do it again."

"Well, we'll see… so, what do I do? Wiggle my nose, click my heels together?"

Skye lifted an eyebrow at him. "First, you stop watching so much television. Second…" she leaned closer into him, her hair draping over his good shoulder. "Start to think differently about what it is you've become. The wolf is part of you that you'll have to learn to recognize. Right now, you can't communicate with it; you don't speak the same language."

"So I don't know the call of the wild… so what do I do?"

Skye shifted on the mattress again and lifted Dean's arm to sidle in closer to his side, her thigh pressed against the length of his side, her legs folded under her. She dropped Dean's hand down to her hip. Dean's interest, despite his bum shoulder, immediately piqued.

"The wolf is a state of mind. It's elation, an endorphin rush. Your body knows how to do that," Skye smiled suggestively at him, "very well, I might add."

Dean smirked cockily.

"The wolf is buried in that, tangled up in it. You have to call it out of that body high."

Dean really tried to comprehend Skye's instructions, but he felt once again like the remedial student trying to follow Sam's brains. He sighed. "I'm going to need a little more direction than use the Force."

Skye rolled her eyes affectionately. "Really, Dean, less television."

"So, Kenobi, what do you want me to do?"

Skye smiled purposefully down at him, said, "Nothing," and bent down and opened her mouth against his naked chest.

Dean sucked in a breath at the unexpected kiss, then let his eyes roll closed as Skye worked her way up his chest to his throat, kissing and suckling.

"I have no idea what this has to do with wolfing out," Dean groaned, "but _please_ don't stop."

Skye chuckled against his neck and she began to slide one hand over his stomach.

Dean's blood began to quicken, his body flushing with the wave of arousal that followed her touch.

Then her lips left his neck and captured his mouth. Their tongues met, open mouths hungry for more.

Dean tried to move to grab her but his shoulder protested, and Skye stilled him by resolutely straddling his hips.

Dean's good hand went to her hip, squeezed and kneaded the denim of her jeans and her body underneath.

By feel, Skye unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. She slid one hand down inside.

Dean grunted when she touched him, the wolf exercise completely forgotten.

Skye kissed him, caressed him, coaxed him to heightened states of arousal with every move of her body.

Just when Dean was about to try to give as good as he got, wondering how he would manage to undress her one-handed, Skye pulled her hand out of his pants, drew away, and got off of him.

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but stared slack-jaw instead as Skye made quick work of riding herself of her clothes.

When she was bare before him, she threw one leg over him again.

Dean reached for her.

Skye framed his face with both hands, leaned down, and kissed him. Hard.

Dean's heart was pounding, racing, and at the same time beginning to drum in a note slightly unfamiliar.

Skye drew back and looked Dean right in the eye.

Dean met her gaze.

Skye's eyes turned to gold.

Dean felt something catch in his throat. He'd seen her wolf before. Had seen it touch her in bed before like it did now, but this time it was different. This time it woke a wild sensation in the center of his chest. His blood began to sing. His body was washed with a tingling, static electricity sensation that seemed to sweep from head to toe and back again. Suddenly the image of Skye leapt into remarkably sharp focus, every hue and shade of her as vibrant as primary colors.

Skye smiled. "That's it, Dean."

"What?" he panted, his body a single nerve ending, starting to shake for wanting her and captivated by this new sensation.

Skye snaked down his body, hands trailing first down his chest, then his sides, then claiming his hips. Then she was tugging on his jeans.

Dean, always a smart one in bed, lifted his hips so Skye could pull his jeans down. Being the efficient girl she was, Skye nabbed his underwear at the same time and worked them down until she'd removed them completely.

Dean tried to lift his head and shoulders to look at her, eager for her to come back so he could see her, touch her, feel her.

Skye stalked on all fours up his body, eyes still golden. She stopped halfway and kissed him below the navel. Then she trailed her way up. She kept her body low, almost resting on top of him but not quite. Her body heat was a sensual press, exciting Dean's need for her touch.

His own body was matching hers in heat. He noticed that he could smell her, every nuance of her scent, thick in the air and stirring his desire. He could hear her breathing, fast and heavy. It pulsated in his ears like ocean waves breaking.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dean knew this was different. New. Exciting.

Skye kissed her way back to his mouth, flicked her tongue over his lips, then drew back to look at him. Her husky voice asked, "Do you feel that, Dean?"

Dean nodded.

Skye kissed him again. He reached for her, but she moved, sidled out of range and out of bed. "Come with me," she beckoned.

Dean turned his head, one second looking at Skye as a gorgeous naked woman, then next elegant wolf.

Dean made himself roll to his side, made himself reach for her. He wanted to go with her, be with her, take her, run with her.

His body rolled, his body exploded into overdrive, the newborn thing of joy and freedom washed over him like pouring rain, and he went over the edge of the mattress.

When he landed on the floor, it was on all four paws.

Dean stood stock-still a moment, afraid to trust his own impossibly acute senses.

In a few seconds of careful consideration, he knew three things for certain: he was a wolf, the change had not hurt in the least, and he wanted Skye.

He turned his head to look toward her.

She came to him, licked his muzzle, and ducked her head beneath his to nuzzle against his chest.

Dean moved to get closer to her, press himself to her. His shoulder was in noticeable pain, but not debilitating. It wouldn't keep him from Skye.

He never would have thought love would be as passionate or powerful as a wolf, but it was.

* * *

When Dean woke, it was in bed with Skye spooned against him, tucked warm and wonderful against his chest and stomach. On impulse, he hugged her closer. "You awake?" he whispered.

Skye shifted slightly against him and practically purred her confirmation.

Dean pressed his lips against her bare shoulder. "You were right."

Skye rubbed his forearm lazily with one of her hands and spared him a well-deserved 'I told you so'. "How does your shoulder feel?"

Dean moved it experimentally. That he could move it at all was answer in itself. "Pretty good, considering it was ripped to hell a couple of days ago."

Skye stilled.

Dean wanted to smack himself when he realized what he'd said. "Sorry."

Skye shook her head. "I'd do it again, you know."

Dean knew what it meant for Skye to say that, and he didn't know what answer he could give that would measure up to it. Instead, he kissed her shoulder.

Skye gripped his hand where it rested beneath her breasts. "It scares me."

"What does?"

Skye moved away from him so she could roll over and face him. She looked up into his eyes, dark brown meeting hazel-green, and she answered lowly, "How much I need you."

Dean swallowed. He'd had women want him before, but never _need_ him. Not since he lost his mother so many years ago. The only people who had ever needed him since he was four were his father and his brother. This was different. This was primal need.

Dean stared into Skye's eyes, studied her face with the kind of scrutiny Sam always gave his schoolbooks, and then reached out to touch her. He let his hand cup her face tenderly, her skin soft under his touch. "I know the feeling," he whispered back. It scared him, too, but he knew how she felt… he knew _he_ needed _her_.

Skye closed her eyes and tucked her head, her forehead resting against Dean's chest. Dean moved his hand to her hair, threading his fingers into the dark locks.

After a second, Skye took a deep breath without lifting her head. "I just want to stay here with you, show you the forest the way I know it, as a wolf… but we need to take Trey home."

Dean hated it. "I know."

"The others are going to know the minute they see you that you're different. One of us."

Dean froze. He thought of all the cold, suspicious, watchful looks he'd received from the townsfolk of Eclipse River, Oregon. The lycanthrope pack that knew full well a human hunter was walking among them. Dean didn't really imagine those looks would change. "But I never will be, will I?"

Skye looked up at him then.

"One of you," Dean clarified.

Skye frowned. That said it all. But a resolute determination came over her face, and she said, "You may never be part of our pack, but you _are_ lycan."

Dean didn't know yet how he felt about that, not really. All he knew was that he would never have to stand back and watch Skye run farther and faster than he could he keep up with. He knew only the rush of senses that filled to the brim with Skye when he was the wolf.

He didn't know what being a lycan meant outside of what it meant when he was with Skye.

But if there was anything he was good at, it was thinking on his feet. He'd figure it out as it came at him. That was the Winchester way.

END


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